


Brotherly Love

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF!Harry, Crossover, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-11
Updated: 2012-06-11
Packaged: 2017-11-07 12:20:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/431118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While everyone knows of the two Holmes brothers, Sherlock and Mycroft, not many know of the third... and he has a few words of warning for his little brothers' partners.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brotherly Love

John woke slowly, in stages. First, he was aware of the arm over his hips, and the warm body at his back. Second, he was aware that both he and his bedmate were naked. And third, he recognised the soft huffing sound against the back of his neck that Sherlock made when he was awake, but pretending to sleep for John's benefit. Smiling to himself, he carefully rolled over, meeting the younger man's eyes. "How long have you been awake?" he asked around a yawn, and Sherlock shrugged.

"An hour, maybe two. You were fidgeting in your sleep again," he told John, who winced.

"Sorry." Still, Sherlock had come to bed at three, and it was now — he glanced at the clock — half past eight. That meant Sherlock had managed three, possibly four hours of sleep. He couldn't argue with that. "Breakfast?" Sherlock nodded, as if there was no other sensible option, and John rolled his eyes fondly. "Oh, give me a proper good morning, you git." Sherlock's lips curled in the barest of smiles, and he leaned forward, pressing their lips together. John tangled his fingers in Sherlock's hair, pulling him in closer with a low groan. "That's better," he hummed contentedly when they parted, drawing a slightly larger smile from the detective. "Please tell me we don't have any cases today." He was definitely overdue a day of lounging about and doing nothing in particular.

"We don't have any cases today," Sherlock replied obediently. John propped himself up on his elbow, raising an eyebrow.

"You're lying to me, aren't you." Sitting up, he reluctantly crawled out of Sherlock's embrace, reaching for his dressing gown.

"Yes. Lestrade wants us at the docklands in an hour." John groaned, scowling at the thought. He hated the docklands; they were cold, and full of seagulls.

"I'd better get started on breakfast, then. Anything I should look out for in the fridge?" Sherlock pondered the question for a moment, then shook his head, following John from the bedroom. When John stopped, Sherlock walked directly into his back.

"Honestly, John, I know you don't want to work today, but there's no need to act like a child," he muttered, somewhat hypocritically. He heard a snort that definitely didn't belong to John, and his eyes widened a fraction.

"Is that any way to speak to your lover, little brother?" Looking over John's head, he resisted the urge to groan upon seeing a familiar person sat on his sofa, feet propped on the coffee table.

"I didn't think you were in the country, Hadrian," he said by way of reply, nudging John forward. Hadrian smirked, green eyes glowing.

"Yes, well, I wasn't until three hours ago. Mummy called — you really must talk to her more often, by the way — and told me all about what you've been up to lately, including that handsome man of yours. John, was it? When I heard, I simply had to come and meet him; you understand, don't you?" His tone was polite, but Sherlock wasn't fooled. Of course he understood. Hadrian was doing what Hadrian did best; scaring everyone around him into agreeing to whatever he said. He may as well sit back and let it happen.

"Well, you've met him now. Did mummy tell you about Mycroft, too?" As much as he liked to pretend Mycroft didn't have any sort of sex life, it was hard when he frequently walked into Lestrade's office to find his brother snogging the life out of the DI. Hadrian's smirk widened.

"Of course," he assured. "I'll be seeing him later, too, rest assured. Now, John — I can call you John, can't I? — Do sit down, we have much to talk about." Sherlock looked at his lover, who seemed rather shell-shocked.

"I'm sorry, but… did you say 'little brother'? Sherlock, I thought Mycroft was your only sibling?" Hadrian put on a theatric pout, directing wide green eyes at Sherlock.

"You mean you don't talk about me? Tragic. Sit, sit," he urged, leaving John with no choice but to sit in the armchair. Sherlock sat on the arm of it, placing a hand on John's shoulder in a show of solidarity that didn't go unnoticed. "It's like that is it? Mummy will be pleased," Hadrian murmured softly, obviously knowing something John didn't. "Help yourselves; I made pancakes. Also, Sherlock, your toes in the fridge are starting to look rather wretched, I'd suggest you call it a day and dispose of them." John spluttered, turning to the detective.

"Toes? You said there was nothing to look out for in the fridge!" he exclaimed, earning a raised eyebrow.

"John, if you can't distinguish between decomposing toes and regular breakfast foods, you're more of an idiot than I thought," he said flatly. John didn't look impressed, and Hadrian laughed, serving up two plates of pancakes. Sherlock didn't argue; he knew not to decline when Hadrian cooked. "John, this is my eldest brother Hadrian Malfoy. Hadrian; John Watson. I don't doubt you already know more about him than I could tell you; is Mycroft aware you've been hacking his surveillance feeds?" Hadrian smirked, offering him a wink.

"If he's not, let's not tell him, hmm?"

"If you're Sherlock's brother, what's with the different surnames?" John asked, perplexed, as he accepted his food somewhat bemusedly.

"Do keep up, John; Malfoy is my married name. But I've never had the Holmes surname — Hadrian Holmes sounds too ridiculous for words, does it not? — I'm adopted."

"How is dear Draco, anyway?" Sherlock queried evenly, trying not to stuff himself with pancakes like a five year-old. He'd missed Hadrian's cooking.

"He's fine," Hadrian replied, a soft smile on his face at the thought of his spouse. "In France, at the moment. But you're distracting me, little brother; I'm here to chat with John." His smile turned threatening, and Sherlock almost felt sorry for his lover. But it was bound to happen eventually.

"I'd best go get dressed, then," he mused, running his fingers through John's sleep-mussed hair before standing. "Be gentle with him, Hadrian; I'm rather fond of him."

"I'll be gentle enough," Hadrian promised, not sounding particularly sincere. John shot him an alarmed look, which Sherlock ignored, padding into the bedroom. John warily met Hadrian's eyes, wondering if he was about to lose a valued limb or two.

"If you're going to threaten me about hurting him, Mycroft beat you to it." He hated the way his voice quivered, and Hadrian's smirk send shivers down his spine.

"You'd think so, wouldn't you?" he agreed nonchalantly. "Let me make myself very clear, John Watson; whatever Mycroft threatened you with is child's play compared to what will happen to you should I find out you've harmed my brother in any way." John gulped, and Hadrian's smirk widened. "In certain circles, I am widely recognised as the most dangerous man in the world. Sherlock might like to pretend he's indestructible, but I think we both know otherwise, don't you?" John nodded, knowing all too well how easy it was to break Sherlock. "My youngest brother is fragile, and it would be in your best interests to make sure he is kept content. I will be watching you, John Watson; every moment of every day for the rest of your life, and for Sherlock's sake, you'd better hope it's a long one."

"Bit of a voyeur, then, are you?" John blurted, unable to help himself. Hadrian paused, then laughed, an amused smile tugging at his lips.

"Oh, maybe there is a reason Sherlock picked you," he mused, making John smile tentatively. "I love my brother, John. And I can tell he loves you very much."

"I feel the same way about him," John insisted, wondering why he felt like he was asking Sherlock's father for permission, or something, like Sherlock was a teenage girl he wanted to take to the prom.

"I know," Hadrian agreed, smiling. "But loving him and liking him aren't always mutually exclusive." John snorted; there was the truth if he'd ever heard it. "I like you, John. I don't want to kill you. But if you hurt Sherlock, I won't hesitate." They both paused as Sherlock re-entered the room, dressed and ready for the day.

"Are you quite finished, Hadrian?" he asked, sounding bored, thought John could detect a hint of nervousness in his tone. Why was he nervous? Did he think that his — admittedly, terrifying — brother threatening John would really get him to leave?

"Just about, yes," Hadrian replied evenly. "Remember what I said, John," he added, giving the doctor a dangerous smile. "One wrong step, and you won't have the capacity to make another." John nodded, resisting the urge to stand to attention in front of the stranger. Sherlock huffed, folding his arms over his chest.

"I'm perfectly capable of looking after myself, Hadrian," he muttered in protest. Harry smiled fondly at him.

"I know you are, love, but I'm your big brother; it's my duty to threaten your partners until they piss themselves in fear."

"And yet I've never seen any other brother take that duty quite so seriously as you," Sherlock retorted, making Hadrian laugh.

"You know me, Sherlock; I never do anything by halves." Sherlock's lips twitched, before his expression grew somewhat tentative. It was a face John recognised; his 'I want to say something but I don't quite know how to word it so other people will understand' face. Eventually, he opened his mouth.

"You remember what you told me on my sixteenth birthday?" he blurted, startling both of the room's other occupants. John looked completely bewildered, while Hadrian merely frowned.

"Of course," he replied, prompting Sherlock to continue. Sherlock bit his lip, arms folded over his chest defensively, and John wished he was brave enough to get out of his seat and hug him.

"It's John," the detective told his brother. John watched as Hadrian's eyes widened, then flicked back to him, a glint of something he couldn't quite place in his expression.

"Really?" he asked, voice soft, sounding intrigued. Sherlock nodded.

"It always has been. Since the day I met him." Hadrian's eyes locked with Sherlock's for a long moment, the two brothers seemingly having a silent conversation, before he nodded, smiling widely.

"I'd better let you two get ready for work, then," he declared, standing. "Draco will be home on Thursday, and we'll be in the country for the next three weeks, work permitting. Do come have dinner with us sometime, Sherlock; and bring John, too." Sherlock offered him a smile, hugging his brother tightly.

"We'll try," he promised once he'd stepped back. "It's good to see you, Hadrian. Though I'd appreciate a warning next time." Hadrian chuckled, kissing Sherlock's cheek.

"No promises, little brother. It was wonderful meeting you, John, and I'm sure we'll see each other in the future." John blinked at the hand offered to him, shaking it.

"Uh, yes. Nice to meet you too." Was Hadrian bipolar? He'd had a complete personality transplant in about three seconds. Still, John wasn't going to argue.

Hadrian left the flat silently, and Sherlock poked John in the shoulder, snapping him from his daze. "Are you going to get dressed, or what?"

"Why didn't you tell me you had two brothers?" John queried, not making a move to do as Sherlock prompted. They had time. Sherlock shrugged, looking somewhat uncomfortable.

"The subject never arose," he reasoned evasively. "Hadrian hasn't been in England for almost a year."

"I've known you for longer than that," John pointed out. "I'm not angry, I'm just confused." Privately, he thought, if he had a brother like Hadrian, he wouldn't tell anyone either. The man was terrifying. "What did he tell you on your sixteenth birthday?" The question was innocent, and so it surprised John when Sherlock's cheeks went pink.

"Nothing important." John snorted, raising a skeptical eyebrow.

"Whatever it was just got him to leave, no questions asked. I'd say it's important." He stood, winding an arm around Sherlock's thin waist, pulling him closer. "I won't tell anyone," he promised. "If it's embarrassing." Sherlock was silent for a long moment, and John was just about to give up when the younger man spoke.

"Mummy insisted I have a party for my sixteenth," he began. "Coming of age and all that. She invited all the boys from school without my consent, and some of the girls from the neighbouring school. It was awful; they spent the whole time mocking me and making hurtful comments, and as soon as mummy wasn't looking, I went inside and hid in Hadrian's room. Even back then, no one ever dared go in Hadrian's room." John smirked slightly; he could imagine that. "Hadrian found me, of course, and I thought he was going to make me go back outside. Instead he let me wait in his room while he went and yelled at them all, and when they'd all gone home he came back up, and he told me…" He paused, breath hitching. "He told me that one day I would find the one person in the world who makes me feel both completely extraordinary and completely normal at the same time, and then no one else would matter." His eyes were on John's intensely, and John felt his heart stop. "He said that when I found that person, I'd best do everything in my power to keep them with me. I thought he was lying until I met you."

John couldn't breathe, or speak, or _think_ ; all he knew was that Sherlock had as good as declared them soulmates. And he couldn't find it in himself to disagree with the deduction one bit. "Oh, Sherlock," he breathed, leaning up to press a hard kiss to the dark-haired man's lips. "And you said you didn't do romantic," he teased softly, earning a tentative smile. "I love you too, you gorgeous idiot." Sherlock actually grinned — properly grinned — at those words, pulling John close.

"I don't say it often enough," he murmured apologetically. "I know that. But I do love you, John. I should hope you never doubted it."

"Not for a second," John promised, completely truthful. Even when Sherlock was being childish and unreasonable and hurtful, even when they hadn't been together, John knew Sherlock loved him. "Let's not tell Mycroft that Hadrian's in town, hmm?" he suggested with a smirk. "It'll do Greg good to get a bit of a scare." Sherlock laughed, kissing him languidly.

"Speaking of Lestrade, you'd better get dressed," he pointed out, glancing down at John's dressing-gown clad form. John suddenly became aware that he'd conducted the whole meeting with Sherlock's brother completely naked under the robe. That was awkward. He smirked, gripping the collar of Sherlock's shirt with one hand, his other arm wrapped around the tall man's waist.

"I think we've got time for me to stay undressed a while longer," he murmured, pulling Sherlock down into a heated kiss. Sherlock let out one of his stilted moans — the sound he made when he was trying not to enjoy what John was doing to him, but failing — and automatically pulled him closer, a hand tugging at the tie of John's robe.

"Even if we don't, Lestrade can wait," he agreed, pushing John down onto the sofa, both trying to ignore the memory of Sherlock's brother sitting there only minutes before.

.-.-.

Mycroft sighed, sinking back into the comfortable leather seat of the car and checking his watch, smiling slightly. At least he wouldn't be late home; no later than Greg, at least. "Clear my schedule for the evening, would you?" he requested of his PA — he thought she was going by the name Annabel today. She nodded, tapping away at her Blackberry.

"All clear, sir," she informed him. "Will you be re-directing your calls?"

"No, no, I'd better keep them coming; can't have World War Three happening just because I want an evening of peace and quiet," he remarked dryly. His phone bleeped, and he looked down at the screen, smiling at the name heading the text. "Swing by Scotland Yard, would you?" he called to his driver after he'd read the text. "Greg's waiting." There was a murmur of assent, and Mycroft smiled in satisfaction as they turned down the road that would take them to his lover's workplace. It wasn't far, and Annabel begged off when they arrived, assuring him that should she have permission, she was meeting her sister and brother-in-law nearby. Mycroft obligingly gave her the night off, smiling in greeting as Greg collapsed into the seat next to him, leaning over for a chaste kiss. "Bad day?" he presumed. Greg sighed, tugging at his short fringe.

"Not bad, just long," he replied, resting his head on Mycroft's shoulder and smiling faintly as the man's fingers began carding through his hair. "Your brother didn't help; I swear, him and John are both on something, they've been acting like a pair of schoolgirls all day. All longing looks and secret snogging in the corners of crime scenes, smug little grins on their faces just in case it wasn't obvious to all of us that they're shagging regularly." Mycroft grimaced, not wanting the details of his little brother's sex life. "He cracked the case, though, so I suppose I can't call him completely useless."

"I'm sure he'd be delighted to hear that," Mycroft replied dryly, making Greg snort. "And you'll be delighted to hear I'm all yours until tomorrow morning, unplanned warfare permitting." Greg tilted his head to look at him, surprised.

"That's unusual. What've I done right to deserve that, then?" he queried, smiling contentedly. Mycroft kissed his temple, fingers still woven through silver hair.

"Nothing in particular, darling," he assured in a murmur. "I'm just all-too aware of how long it's been since we had an evening together. I do apologise." Greg rolled his eyes, leaning up to catch Mycroft's lips in a brief kiss, teasingly nipping at his bottom lip.

"No apology necessary. Work comes first, I know," he insisted, not offended. It was the same way for him, and they both knew it; it was why they worked so well together. "But I can't say I'm not pleased. Shall we order in dinner? I think the fridge is empty again." Greg knew he hadn't gone shopping, and he doubted Mycroft had, so unless Annabel had, they were out of food.

"Italian or Chinese?" Mycroft asked in reply. Greg thought about it for a few moments.

"Italian," he decided, peering at the screen of Mycroft's phone as he sent off an order to their usual Italian restaurant asking for a delivery. "How was your day, anyway?" Mycroft hummed, letting Greg go when they came to a halt, allowing him to get out of the car.

"Rather dull, actually. I spent the better part of the morning in a meeting with the Russian Minister of Defence, and the afternoon trying to negotiate an agreement with the Americans over handling of the whole Egypt debacle." Greg winced, wondering how Mycroft could stand doing that for a living. Still, he knew that as much as Mycroft complained, he loved his job.

Mycroft led the way up to his flat, Greg's fingers twined loosely with his own, and he frowned when he found his door unlocked. Greg's shoulders stiffened, his hand going to the gun at his hip, and he nudged his way through the doorway first, ready to shield Mycroft should there be any trouble. "Relax, little brother, it's only me." Greg startled at the voice, and was surprised when it brought a half-smile to Mycroft's lips. The younger man put a hand on his arm, kissing his jaw.

"It's fine," he assured quietly, before walking straight past Greg towards the living room. "You might want to at least lock the door behind you, Hadrian, to save me panicking." Greg followed, eyebrows rising when he saw the man stretched out on Mycroft's sofa as if he owned it, one of Mycroft's books in his hand.

"I do apologise, Mycroft, but I thought your men might actually catch me this time." Far from being offended, Mycroft snorted, rolling his eyes.

"The day my men can catch you is the day you're out of a job, love. What are you doing here?" Greg scowled at the term of endearment; just who was this bloke?

"How did he get in here?" he cut in, brows furrowed. The man on the sofa looked up at him, expression neutral.

"You must be Greg Lestrade," he declared, tone as even as his face.

"Mummy told you, then? Or was it Sherlock?" Mycroft sighed, taking Greg's hand in his own and pulling him towards the unoccupied sofa. "Don't let him scare you, Greg; my brother's rather a show-off." Greg's jaw dropped.

"You have a brother that isn't Sherlock?" he questioned, wondering why it was the first time hearing of the man.

"I would have introduced you sooner, but I haven't seen Hadrian in a year. I assume your business is finished, brother?" Mycroft gave Greg an apologetic look, though his question was directed at Hadrian.

"For now," the green-eyed man replied. The way he was staring at Greg made him nervous, and he wondered if the piercing gaze was learned or genetic for the Holmes boys. "And yes, it was mummy that told me. Just because I'm halfway across the world doesn't mean I don't have internet; you can drop me an email every now and then." His voice was scolding, and Greg was surprised to see Mycroft look abashed.

"Yes, well, I couldn't be certain you were on a secure network," he argued feebly. Hadrian rolled his eyes.

"Excuses, excuses," he murmured teasingly. "Do go make yourself useful elsewhere, love; I'd like to have a little chat with Gregory here." Greg bristled — the only people allowed to call him Gregory were Mycroft and his mother — but Mycroft sighed, leaning to press a kiss to Greg's cheek.

"Don't let him bully you, darling," he instructed. "He can't do anything to you so long as I tell him not to." That wasn't particularly reassuring, but Greg was determined to hold his ground; surely this bloke couldn't be any worse than Sherlock promising to be irritating in all the worst ways should he hurt Mycroft?

"Here to give me the 'you hurt my brother, I hurt you' speech, are you?" Greg presumed when Mycroft had left, hoping he sounded bored. Hadrian smirked unnervingly at him.

"Something like that," he agreed. "You're a man of the law, Gregory. I'm a man outside the law. Ask your supervisor about me, I'm sure you won't be disappointed." If it was likely to go any way similar to the time Greg had asked his supervisor about Mycroft, he'd rather not. "Mycroft has his people, but I have mine, and I assure you, my people are better than his."

"Threatening me isn't likely to work," he retorted bravely. "Mycroft wouldn't let you hurt me." Hadrian's smirk, worryingly, widened.

"Yes, but should you do something to put Mycroft in the mind of allowing me to hurt you, it's only fair that you be warned. You're not the type of man my brother usually goes for." Greg scowled.

"Considering how those twats treated him, I can only see that as a good thing," he snapped in reply. He'd heard stories of Mycroft's previous boyfriends, and they were all arseholes.

"You have a point," Hadrian agreed, looking amused. "But if you're aware of Mycroft's… less than stellar dating history, you can understand why I'm concerned."

"Look, Hadrian," Greg cut in, deciding to just be blunt. "I'm not going to say Mycroft and I don't fight, because that would be a lie. But every couple fights, and I can promise you now that I'm not going to hurt Mycroft. I love him, for God's sake."

"I don't doubt that you do," Hadrian placated. "And I'm sure you're wonderful for him, especially since even Sherlock seems to approve of you. But I have yet to make my judgement, and until I do, I'll be watching you very closely." Greg resisted the urge to glance over his shoulder, knowing he was going to be feeling paranoid for weeks.

"Mycroft is the best thing that's happened to me," he declared, not a trace of doubt or hesitation in his voice. "So I'm not likely to cock that up if I can help it." Hadrian chuckled, looking pleased.

"Then I don't see any reason we can't get along just fine," he replied smoothly. "Mycroft, dear, you can stop eavesdropping now!" Greg hid a smirk as the study door swung open, and Mycroft stepped out looking like a guilty child.

"You didn't try and stop me, I assumed you wouldn't mind," he pointed out, holding his head high. His eyes landed on Greg's, and Greg felt his cheeks heat when he realised Mycroft had heard every word. It was nothing he hadn't said to his lover's face, but still… He offered a smile as Mycroft drew closer, accepting the brief kiss.

"I love you, too, for the record," the younger man murmured, hand on the back of Greg's neck. "And you are by far the best thing in my life." That was saying a lot, considering how much Mycroft loved his job.

The doorbell rang, reminding Greg that they'd ordered Italian, and Mycroft pulled away. "I'll get it," he assured, glancing over at his brother. "I assume you're not staying?" Hadrian chuckled, shaking his head.

"No, no, I'll leave you two to your romantic evening," he teased, getting to his feet. "And I'll extend the same offer I gave Sherlock and John; I'm in the country for the next three weeks, and you're both welcome for dinner at any time. Mycroft, love, Draco has a proposal to run by you. I'll get him to email it to you, shall I?" Mycroft nodded in agreement, accepting their boxed-up meals from the delivery boy. He shut the door with his hip and set the boxes on the side table, crossing to hug his brother with a kiss on the cheek.

"Please do. And in future, feel free to actually let me know when you plan on dropping by my house," he added with a teasing smirk. Hadrian laughed, ruffling his brother's hair.

"Where would the fun in that be?" Stepping back, he held a hand out to Greg, who shook it firmly. "Pleasure meeting you, Gregory, and I'm sure we'll see each other again soon. Do try and make sure this one eats and sleeps regularly, will you? He's as bad as Sherlock sometimes." His tone was fond, and Greg smiled ruefully, well aware of his lover's habits.

"I try my best," he assured. "Nice to meet you, Hadrian." Even if you did threaten to kill me, he added mentally. Hadrian slipped past Mycroft, squeezing his shoulder, and left through the front door. Greg snorted when they were alone, looking up at his lover. "Is everyone in your family mental?" Mycroft laughed, lips quirking in an indulgent smile as he brought their food over along with cutlery.

"Just about, yes," he agreed. "But you wouldn't have me any other way, would you?" Greg slid a hand around his neck, pulling him into a possessive kiss.

"Never," he agreed firmly, shifting up so Mycroft could sit comfortably beside him, their dinner on their laps.

"Had I known Hadrian was coming home, I would have warned you. It does explain why Sherlock and John were so giddy today, though." Greg raised an eyebrow to prompt an explanation, and Mycroft smirked. "Even when we were children, Sherlock has only ever wanted Hadrian's approval; I can only imagine our dear Hadrian gave it to him."

"What about you?" Greg queried, interested. Mycroft sighed, shrugging.

"My brother's approval pleases me, but it isn't necessary. But since he gave it, the matter is irrelevant." Greg stopped, forkful of spaghetti halfway to his mouth.

"That was his _approval_?" he asked incredulously, making Mycroft laugh.

"Oh, yes. From Hadrian, that was a positively glowing endorsement. You shan't be rid of me now, darling; you're part of the family." Greg felt his lips curl into a smile, and he allowed Mycroft to coax him into a kiss, humming contentedly against his partner's lips.

"I'd best keep an eye on my sanity, then," he muttered, earning a quiet chuckle. "Blimey, if that was his approval, I'd hate to see what his disapproval looks like." Mycroft smiled at him, free hand running through Greg's hair.

"If I have my way, you'll never have to find out. Now, as much as I do love my brother, let's put him from our minds, shall we? I wanted an evening with you all to myself, and you know I always get what I want." Mycroft's voice was a low purr, and it sent spikes of arousal straight to Greg's crotch.

"Dinner can always be reheated, can't it?" he suggested, voice throaty with want, and Mycroft chuckled, eyes bright.

"Indeed it can, darling." Greg barely managed to get his plate safely to the coffee table before Mycroft was yanking him to his feet, their lips connecting fiercely, footsteps somewhat shaky on the way to the bedroom. Greg growled as Mycroft's hand dropped to his belt, nimble fingers undoing it swiftly. Approval of both Holmes brothers; he definitely looked to be becoming a permanent fixture in Mycroft's life. And he couldn't be happier.


End file.
